


Caught

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Anal Sex, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Come Eating, Creampie, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Father/Son Incest, Hank Anderson Has a Big Dick, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Resolved Sexual Tension, Top Hank Anderson, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hank catches Connor sneaking back from a party. He isn't happy about it.[see notes]
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 159
Collections: Anonymous





	Caught

**Author's Note:**

> ITS BIG HORNY HOURS TODAY BOYS
> 
> if you disregard the tags and read this anyway knowing u wont like it then you're an idiot and deserve no sympathy
> 
> some notes:  
> \- connor is hank's biological son instead of cole  
> \- connor's mom is either gone or dead, u choose  
> \- connor is college-age?? over 18 anyway but still living at home  
> \- connor is a cis male  
> \- no i won't kill myself, no i wont stop being horny

Hank glanced at the clock for the fourth time that hour. The second hand moved at a crawl. His eyes didn’t leave it as he took another swig of his whiskey. The house was silent, as it always tended to be in the small hours of the morning, Sumo in a dead sleep in the corner. Hank’s only company was the buzz of the fridge, the hum of distant traffic, and the infuriating tick of the clock.

It was a little past two o’clock when Hank heard the telltale rattle of keys in the door. He looked over at it, readying his most patronizing expression, pushing the empty tumbler across the table. Sumo didn’t even stir, the lazy bastard. On cue, the front door creaked open, admitting a bitterly cold draught in the few seconds it stood open; just enough to admit a tall, lean shadow. Hank hadn’t turned on the light; he wasn’t a fucking idiot. The shadow didn’t seem to notice him right away, moving without even a ripple in the air.

“Bout time,” Hank drawled. The shadow froze, and through the darkness Hank saw a pair of gleaming eyes. With a groan, he rose from the kitchen table and went to hit the lights, illuminating the boy like a deer caught beneath a floodlight.

“…hey.” Connor’s voice rose, almost breaking in panic. He didn’t let it show in his face, though his posture remained frozen for a few seconds too long. “I was – uh. Visiting Markus.”

Hank licked his teeth, not believing him for a second. “Markus, huh?”

Connor’s throat bobbed, the sharpness of his Adam’s apple tantalizing as it shivered. Hank could barely keep his eyes off it. He never could when it came to Connor. Hank tore his gaze from him to nod at the clock, hands on his hips, the perfect image of an unimpressed parent. “Strange time to be visiting one of your buddies.”

Connor didn’t reply. His lips parted as if he meant to, and Hank could practically see the frantic chaos of his thoughts behind his eyes. He feigned his easiness and did a terrible job of it; Hank could see right through him, always had done. Dark eyes flicked to the door, desperate for an escape, but Hank was already making his way across the room to his son, who remained immobilized with terror.

Because Connor was a good boy in the very sense of the word. Handsome, clever, charismatic, well-behaved. The best son Hank could have asked for. This kind of thing came on slow: at first Hank was oblivious to it. Connor chose to sneak out when he knew he was least likely to be caught. Yeah, the kid was clever – maybe even cleverer than Hank. But what he didn’t have was experience, and Hank had _that_ by the truckload.

They stood in a very tense silence, almost chest-to-chest. Hank knew how to use his size to his advantage, after all. Leaning in, he inhaled, gleaning exactly what he expected to: second-hand smoke, perfume, and ammonia. He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, practically lapping up Connor’s terrified expression. Christ, this shit never got old. Truly, Hank didn’t plan on punishing Connor for sneaking out like this, even if it was to go to a party or a club or whatever. He’d been a kid too, once – he knew how these things worked. He just liked working him up a bit – Connor was absolutely delightful when the adrenaline started running. “Doesn’t smell like you were studying.”

Connor swallowed again. “It’s not –,”

And then Connor said something, but Hank didn’t hear it. Didn’t care. Because he’d caught onto something he _didn’t_ expect. Cologne. Cologne and the distinct smell of lubricant, accentuated by the distinct wine-stain blotch peeking out from beneath the boy’s collar.

The breath caught in his throat all at once. He knew Connor was out there doing what teenagers did, but he hadn’t – he hadn’t expected _that_. For some reason. Pictures of his boy getting fucked silly rose unbidden like the swelling backbone of a tsunami, slaughtering everything else in his path, and the arousal it inspired hit him like a punch to the gut. It was almost painful. Lust and – anger. Jealousy. Something Hank hadn’t felt for a very long time, and certainly something he’d never expected to feel over Connor.

“Dad?” Connor’s eyes were large and almost black in the low light. Hank hadn’t realized he was staring at Connor’s mouth. His hand had come to seize the boy’s bicep, and Connor’s fear ran deep into every line of his face. He misread Hank’s horror as fury, and knew better than to try and argue.

“Who was it?” Hank rasped before he could stop himself. He spoke before he could think about it. Every single braincell was overwhelmed by thoughts of his boy, his son, squirming and coming on some asshole’s cock. “Was it Markus?”

Connor’s throat bobbed again and this time Hank didn’t even try to look away. A strange, surprised sound came from him, and his face flushed as he realized that Hank had caught on. Hank’s free hand rose to wrench at his collar, exposing the mark there, freshly sucked and the most gorgeous thing Hank had ever seen. Shame it came form someone else. Shame it hadn’t come from him.

 _There’s a special place in hell for people like you,_ a voice told him from somewhere at the back of his mind. The voice was laughing. Laughing at Hank. Laughing at the way Connor arched into the gesture without really meaning to. And boy, if Hank didn’t know it – he’d kick his own ass if he was more coherent. But he wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Not with Connor here, this close, bearing the mark of someone else, someone that wasn’t Hank as if Hank had any right to him in the first place.

Connor’s lips trembled, but not from fear. His eyes darted, restless, between Hank’s eyes and his mouth and his hand. He’d started to sweat, too, glittering along his hairline and the proud ridge of his nose.

“No –,”

Sumo still didn’t wake up, not even when Connor’s weight hit the wall, drawn up onto his toes by Hank’s grip. He could barely breathe, each breath coming shallow and fast and hot. Hank’s hands were – very big. _Huge_. Covered in wiry hair and calluses that Connor may or may not have thought about, at night when he was alone in his bed, hand wrapped around his cock. Hank was handsy by nature – he always had a thing for ruffling hair and clapping Connor on the shoulder. But this wasn’t like that. These hands weren’t kind. They weren’t gentle. They were oppressive and stern and Connor’s dick _loved_ it. It was everything he’d imagined, and yet it was somehow more.

“Who was it?” Hank asked again, voice dropping to a growl that had Connor’s eyes watering. He let the heat rise, jealousy washing through him, fire and ice all at once. “Tell me.”

Connor could feel Hank’s hot breath on his cheek. The whiskers of his beard. He could smell the slight tinge of whiskey, not enough for him to complain about, but enough for him to notice. But Hank wasn’t drunk. No – these were not the hands of a drunk man. Nobody knew that better than Connor.

“Some – one.” His voice punched out of him like his thoughts did: disjointed. “Man. I don’t –,” his voice snapped off with a gasp as Hank shoved him further up the wall, crowding him tight against it. To his back there was plaster, and to his front there was _Hank_. Nothing but Hank. Nothing but the impossible heat of his body, the press of his gut and his chest and his thighs, his strong forearms crushed to Connor’s chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He wanted those fingers in his mouth and those hands around his neck and a thick cock down his throat, Hank’s cock, _dad’s cock –_

And he moaned. Connor moaned, a pathetic whine of a sound, overcome by sheer arousal. Hank had to feel the hardness in his jeans, surely, but he made no sign that he did. He didn’t tear his eyes from his boy’s face for one moment. How could he? Dark eyes wet with tears, a face shining bright as a star, the most handsome thing Hank had ever seen. How he’d ever spat out a kid like this would forever elude him.

“You don’t know, huh?” Hank hissed from between his teeth, his own cock straining painfully at his boxers. Connor could feel it. His gut lurched and his head began to grow light. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t the only one. The air between them was too hot, _unbearable,_ and if Hank hadn’t been pinning him to the wall, Connor would have leaned in and kissed him. Instead, he merely looked contrite and shook his head. “Yeah, ‘course you don’t. Just let some random asshole dump his load, huh?”

Hank’s voice in his ear would make him come. Connor wouldn’t have thought it was possible had he not been in his current circumstance, but _God_ , his voice and his words and the hot press of him was too much. Connor’s sweating hands came to grip at Hank’s forearms, his body finally kicking into action; each movement stung. He turned his face and dragged his open mouth up over Hank’s cheek, trembling thighs opening to admit Hank’s leg between them. Maybe – maybe he was dreaming this all. Maybe he’d wake up with a painful boner like the last time.

“You –,” Connor panted. “I had to get it out of my system –,”

Hank paused, then. Drew back a little, looking Connor in the eye and frowning. “Get what out of your system?”

Connor swallowed nervously, licking his lips, a habit he’d inherited from Hank. “Bad things,” he whispered, because he had the same little voice in the back of his head laughing at him, and Hank realized this when Connor’s hips ground down against his thigh. “Thinking of – you.” Tears of shame welled up along his waterline, and Hank was seized by a sudden need to comfort him. He hated making Connor cry – it was his duty as a father to comfort and protect him, even now. He pressed his burning forehead to Connor’s cheek and swore. His dick had never been so hard.

“Should’a talked to me,” Hank murmured. And talk is exactly what they should have done – Hank should have pulled away, wiped up Connor’s tears, sat him down, and talked. Yeah. It’s what he should have done.

But he didn’t.

Whatever Connor had been about to say was muffled by Hank’s mouth as he kissed him. His head was light with the revelation that his son – his boy, his _Connor_ – had gotten fucked because of Hank. Firstly, it was sexy as hell, and secondly, it made Hank’s jealousy and possessiveness of his son arch even more ferociously. Connor moaned into his mouth, admitting Hank’s tongue eagerly, sucking on it and scrabbling at his father’s shoulders. Hank hadn’t made out like this since he was in college, all sloppy and uncoordinated, but he never wanted to fucking stop. He’d happily suffocate under his boy’s lips, those sweet, soft lips.

Connor wrenched back, thoroughly robbed of breath, his mouth spit-slick and shiny. His gaze continued its nervous flickering, though this time instead of fear there was only desire, the eagerness of a puppy-dog.

“This is a bad idea,” Hank growled.

“I know,” Connor whispered before dragging him back down to kiss him again. Hank forgot about the smell. He forgot about the booze and the cologne and the lubricant. He _almost_ forgot about the hickey, and would have if Connor didn’t turn into the light at just the right time; Hank tore his mouth from Connor’s, closing it over the mark and sucking at it until Connor began to writhe, hands fisting in Hank’s hair, pulling him closer.

“I never want to see another goddamn mark on you,” Hank snarled when he let up; Connor fixed him with glassy fuck-me eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Connor replied breathily. Hank released his grip to thumb over the boy’s lower lip.

“This is your last chance to back out, boy,” Hank warned him, his voice still low and gravel-rough. Connor took Hank’s thumb into his mouth and sucked it, his half-lidded gaze never once breaking. He smiled around Hank’s thumb in reply.

In a perfect world, Hank would have fucked Connor slowly and lovingly somewhere more comfortable. As it was, however, slow and loving wasn’t the order of the hour by any stretch, and both were too impatient to make it that far.

“I’m not gonna last,” Hank confessed when Connor attempted to sink to his knees, his voice riding along the ghost of a laugh. “You put that pretty mouth of yours on my dick and I’ll blow my load.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Connor asked, voice hushed like what they were doing was a secret. Hank kissed him again, gently, and shook his head.

“Gotta lay claim to what’s mine. Properly.”

Connor moaned loudly, like he’d finally let go of his dignity. His hands were already working at his jeans, wrestling them down his thighs as Hank flipped him around, pressing him bodily against the wall. The curve of Connor’s ass pressed against his groin, and he ground his erection against the crease of it, hands working appreciatively down Connor’s strong, narrow back. He really was beautiful.

“Fuck me,” Connor urged, pushing his ass back even more. Hank’s hands finally came to his boy’s ass, and he squeezed the flesh there, cock twitching as it yielded beneath his fingers. He pushed and spread, knowing there was a gift hidden there beneath the briefs; he was eager to get to it, sure, but he took his time drawing down the elastic over Connor’s backside. He didn’t miss how the boy moaned and spread his legs.

Hank spread Connor’s cheeks again, and nestled between them was a tight pink hole. A _wet_ pink hole, very obviously freshly-fucked, still glistening with lube. He made a disapproving sound.

“Didn’t even bother to clean up, huh? I thought I raised you better than that.”

Connor’s knees felt weak. “Sorry, daddy.”

Christ, if _that_ didn’t shoot straight to Hank’s cock. He was pretty sure he could fuck through concrete.

And Connor – well, Connor always was impatient, and now was no different. He chased Hank’s touch, his grip, his cock, and if it wasn’t for Hank’s hand keeping him anchored to the wall, he would have freed his father’s cock and sunk down on it already.

“Easy there, boy,” Hank groused. “Slow down.”

Connor groaned in frustration and Hank chuckled, catching his tongue between his teeth as he dragged his own boxers down to release the meaty weight of his cock. His boy felt it against the peak of his ass cheek and let out another one of those breathy little noises, looking back over his shoulder. Resting his weight fully against the wall, Connor arched his spine and reached back to spread his cheeks apart, flexing his hole like he knew it would drive Hank mad.

He was right.

“Raised a little slut,” Hank grunted, partly to himself, though there was no heat in it. Connor smirked, but it was tight with urgency. He felt unbearably empty, and from what he could see of Hank’s cock, it would be the biggest he’d ever taken. His mouth watered.

Despite how much he loved teasing his boy, Hank was quickly nearing the end of his patience. His cock strained against his palm, flushed angrily and slick with precoma, and he gave it a few languid strokes before pushing the head over Connor’s hole. It caught, and Connor gasped only to be disappointed as Hank’s cock slid up between his cheeks. The appreciative rumble Hank gave him dulled the disappointment, though.

Finally – _finally!_ – Hank pressed the tip of his cock against his son’s hole, sinking in inch by torturous inch.

Connor’s brain short-circuited. The stretch was delicious – nothing like anything he’d ever dreamed of. The knowledge that it was _Hank’s_ cock, too, made his heartbeat thunder in his ears. Hank let out a choked moan, gripping Connor’s hips tightly and hunching over him. He paused half-way, not wanting to hurt Connor, whose thighs had started to shake violently.

“You okay, son?” he asked, hot in Connor’s ear, one hug hand rising to pet the hair back from his face. The light caught him and Hank saw that Connor’s mouth had gone slack, his eyelids fluttering over eyes that no longer saw. It wasn’t pain, though, that made him this way. No, no, Hank knew better than that.

It was pleasure. He’d fucked his son half-way to madness just by sinking his cock half-way in. With a groan muffled against Connor’s neck, Hank fucked in the rest of the way, jolting Connor up the wall.

“Fuck!” Connor wheezed, vision fading around the edges. If it wasn’t for his father’s hands on his hips, his face, he might have passed out completely. “Fuck me, fuck me!”

And, oh, Hank delivered.

Something ferocious possessed him. His hands dropped back to Connor’s hips, holding them up as he began to fuck Connor within an inch of his life. He wanted to be the best – the one Connor would remember, the one he’d jack off to night after night. Though Hank hoped he wouldn’t have to do so in the dark secrecy of his bedroom – Hank would much rather have a pretty little bedwarmer. If he had his way, Connor would never sleep in his own bed again.

“Fuck, Con,” Hank panted as he fucked. Sweat glistened along his spine. The sight of his son’s ass rippling with each relentless thrust was sinful. It was sin, sin, and Hank knew he was going to hell, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care about shit like that when his boy was bouncing on his dick like this – it was a vision straight from heaven. Connor’s pink, sucking hole refused to let go of his cock, his insides velvety-smooth and tight as a vise. “Perfect fucking pussy –,”

Connor let out a broken sound and fucked himself back on Hank’s cock, moaning _daddy, daddy, daddy!_ over and over until it echoed in Hank’s ears like a prayer. It felt like yesterday that Connor’s mother had been going crazy over his cock as well. _Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree_ , _huh_? that little voice laughed at him.

Leaning forward, Hank reached down and closed his hand around Connor’s cock, which was bobbing between the boy’s thighs. One day, maybe, he’d get a taste of it – but that was something for later. Now, though, Hank was getting close, and he wanted to be able to fuck Connor through his own climax. He wanted to fuck him utterly senseless, to make him unsatisfied by anybody else. To ruin him. To make Connor _his_.

“Come for me, baby,” he panted in Connor’s ear, taking the opportunity to suck a dark mark just below his ear. “Let daddy take care of you, huh?”

Connor sobbed and fucked into Hank’s fist, caught between it and the thick cock splitting him open. All his thoughts had melted; all he was left with was goo between his ears, warm and syrupy-sweet, running thick through each vein, each fiber. He felt like he was about to shut down from pleasure.

And then he was coming, all at once, tearing up his spine and _exploding_. He came all over Hank’s hand, but Hank didn’t let up. He kept fucking him, picking up his pace and pounding balls-deep into Connor’s wet, squeezing hole. There was only a dozen strokes in it before Hank was coming too, pushed over the edge by the sight of Connor coming on his cock. He held himself as deep inside Connor as he could, hips flush against Connor’s ass, and pumped load after load after load deep in his guts.

Connor couldn’t move. He was boneless, his body failing to respond. All he knew was his daddy’s cock in him and the gaping emptiness left in its wake. He wanted it again; he wanted to be fucked again. He wanted to be fucked _forever._ Then Hank’s thick fingers were there, probing around inside his fucked-out hole, making sure all his come was nicely plugged up.

“Shit,” Hank breathed, still trying to catch his breath. He was drenched with sweat and regret, but – also not regret. He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He knew that they had crossed a line, but he couldn’t bring himself to _regret_ it – no sane man would ever regret fucking Connor, regardless if they were his own flesh and blood. Something about Connor being his own son made it even hotter. Connor was his. Connor was _made_ for him, and now Hank had staked his claim to the fullest.

“If you want that pretty hole of yours worked over,” Hank began, putting his fingers to Connor’s mouth for him to clean. “You come to me. Not Markus, not some stranger – _me_.”

Connor willingly sucked Hank’s fingers into his mouth, suckling on them like he used to when he was young. He nodded, eyes heavy where they gazed back at Hank with all the love in the world. Hank licked his teeth, arousal already tightening in his gut again. Leaning forward, he kissed Connor’s sweet mouth, gathering the boy into his arms.

“Love you,” Connor mumbled sleepily, allowing Hank to lift him clean off his feet. “Won’t do it again. Promise.”

Hank may have been an asshole, but he was still Connor's dad, and he knew when his boy was telling the truth.


End file.
